


Random Degrees

by CursedCursingViking



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cambridge, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Mild Smut, Professor - Freeform, Smut, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 02:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursedCursingViking/pseuds/CursedCursingViking
Summary: Rose is six hours away from her final deadline on her soon-to-be-published book when she breaks down in doubt. Tom is there to cheer her up.This is a request by the sweet Rose_SK here on AO3/havenoffandoms on Tumblr, where you can (of course) also reach me, at cursedcursingviking."Hey 😊 I saw that you're taking requests, yay! I'm knees deep with my own WIPs, so I can't write much else atm, but if you could write a Tom Hiddleston x reader where the reader is a junior professor at university college London and she's very stressed because she needs to finish her book project by midnight so she's stressed, but Tom comforts her and tells her how clever and talented she is. But she doesn't believe him because he's got a Cambridge degree, and she has a 'regular' university degree. And lots of fluff haha sorry if it's long if you're not interested that's fine 😊"





	Random Degrees

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Caff, this is the amount of smut you will have to settle for, for now! :p - 'All Is Fair' is getting extensive and difficult!
> 
> Also, ten points to whoever can guess what author Rose is writing her book about and which character she, oh so, accurately describes. Just tell me where you want them - Hogwarts house or tallies on my blackboard, just say the thing and you'll get your credit :p

She jumps at the sudden click of the door being opened, tearing her from her concentration. She leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes, exhausted from looking at her laptop screen all day. All week. Almost all month. Research, write, edit, research, write, edit, an endless cycle driving her madder and madder at, and closer and closer to, her finished book. 

She hears him chat with Bobby downstairs; they’re home from their walk. She tries to push the sounds out of her ears and concentrate on the documents in front of her, reading the last line over and over, trying to figure out whether or not to delete it. 

_“...her works’ clever and realistic insight to the upper class’ complex internal hierarchy, offer great unromanticised understanding of the everyday lives of Georgian Englishmen and -women, allowing current and future citizens a glance through an untainted window into history...”_

“-Rose?” 

His soft voice startles her, making her body draw itself together to become as small as possible, hitting one knee into the desk above it in the process. 

“SHIT!” she howls in frustration and pain, putting one hand on the bruised knee as the other pushes her computer back to make room on the desk, for her to not-so-carefully rest her head upon. 

Tom moves towards her with another softly sighed “Rose…”, but Bobby overtakes him, excited for more possible pets and rubs under his chin and behind his ears. Rose rests limply on the desk, but as he nudges at her legs and whimpers, she takes pity on him and slumps onto the floor, with her back straight against the drawers. Tom looks as Bobby crawls into her arms and begins licking her face, receiving no protests from her. She really is tired, he can tell. 

Now, with her back straight, she can feel the hours of sitting still and only using her hands; her spine is finally released from its unnatural position, but the cramped muscles in her shoulders keep reminding it of its misery. 

“How is the work coming along?” Tom tries to cheer her up, but only receives a ‘hmph’ as an answer, as she hugs Bobby closer. “Rose,” he insists, “what’s wrong?” 

Her bubble breaks and her thoughts form after her words spill from her lips. “It’s just not worth it! It’s dumb and pointless -” 

He interrupts her as he kneels in front of her, grabbing her shoulders. “It’s not dumb! It’s interesting, and I can’t wait to read the finished work!” A small smirk spreads across his face in amusement. “When will you let me read it?” he jokes in desperation. 

“Never,” she cringes at the thought, “the last four chapters I’ve written, all shite! It’s obvious I’ve been sleep deprived and half-assed it.” 

“Rose, you don’t half-ass it! You’ve poured your heart, soul, and sanity into this book! Don’t you dare to give it up now!” His hands tighten around her shoulders and he shakes her slightly to make her look at him. For a moment, he sees her come to her senses and understand his words, behind her eyes. 

“I can’t give up now!” she almost shouts, and Tom gets to enjoy his victory for an approximation of one second before she continues. “I have a deadline, and if I don’t meet it, they’re going to think I’m an unprofessional slob who can’t do shit!” 

His pride crumbles as quickly as it rose, dragging his patience down with it. “Don’t twist my words,” he sighs. 

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t bother. No matter what she says, he’ll disagree. No matter what she does, he’ll stop her, until he can get her on the right track. - She knows this. He literally dragged her out of bed, forced her to shower and eat, before driving her to campus for the revision meeting about her book. Thank god he did… 

When she walked out to the parking lot to find him waiting with flowers and two cards(one in case of good news, one in case of bad), she ran to him, arms clutching the loose papers of her scrip, and let him hug her. Through tears, she had managed to sob ‘they approved it! They gave me a green light! In five months I’m a published author and lecturer of literature.’ He had wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, slightly curling the cards and her papers out of shape; it didn’t matter anyway - her draft was approved, and now began the process of turning it into an actual book. 

She had heard stories from other scholars, warnings from other authors, and had received hundreds of pages worth of advice from her publishers, but nothing - NOTHING - could have actually prepared her for the stress and pressure the work brought with it. Nothing and no one could have properly prepared her for the sleepless nights, the writer's blocks, the anxieties, and the coffee stains - god, the coffee stains. Every new print of a draft was gloriously and accidentally baptised in The Authors’ Caffeinated Holy Bean WaterTM. 

Nothing could have prepared her, for sitting on the floor crying with her boyfriend’s dog in her arms, hugging him like a teddy bear, just six hours from her final deadline, wanting to burn all of her hard-won work - all evidence of her now hated attempt at becoming what she had dreamed of doing for so long. Nothing and no one. 

She despises herself and her work, as she buries her face in Bobby’s soft fur, letting the first stress-fueled tears escape her eyes as she wrangles herself from her regretful memories. She doesn’t notice Tom has his focus to her laptop, taking his chance to finally see her works, not until he reaches down to put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Rose, it’s amazing,” he tries to keep his voice in a convincing and professional tone, and not let his childish excitement of her words shine through. 

“You’re only saying that because you have to,” she mutters sourly into Bobby’s neck. 

Tom saves his ‘I really don’t’ for another time where Rose might be more malleable for arguing. Currently, her despair is set in stone. “Is this the final paragraph?” he asks and gets a small nod in return, almost making him laugh. “Then what are you sitting here for! Let’s go downstairs and get some food in you.” He smiles lovingly at her, and she looks up for what feels like the first time. Reluctantly she nods and lets Bobby off her lap, and follows him and Tom out of the room. 

 

“Can I ask why you suddenly doubt yourself so much?” Tom has put down his knife and fork and is looking at Rose with worried brows. They have finished their meal and she is feeling better, her mood rising along with her blood sugar, but his question has left her mouth dry. 

“I guess reading other people’s work made me doubt myself and my abilities…” She twirls her fork between her finger, avoiding his glance that is without a doubt trying to comfort her. 

His hand covers her free one, finally getting her attention. He smiles at her. “There is no reason to doubt yourself, Darling. You’re a genius!” 

Shyly, she laughs. “I’m nothing compared to you…” 

She is looking down again, so she doesn’t see his jaw drop. But she does her his hearty laughter as her words finally set in with him. “Excuse me?” he pretend-mocks, “‘nothing compared to me’ - Give me a break! I’m not the one having a book published!” 

“You know what I mean!” she gives back. “You’re a Cambridge graduate, you’re so far above me! I’m just from some random London university…” 

“And so what?” he persists, finally managing to catch and actually keep her gaze. “It doesn’t matter where we get our degree, only what we do with it!” 

“Sure thing, Gandalf,” she teases and rolls her eyes at his cheesy comment. 

“I’m serious, Rose. Most of the people I went to school with are dull as ditchwater -” 

“Except for Prince Harry, he seems to be doing quite well for himself,” she interrupts with a cheeky wink. 

“I guess you’re right. Successfully dating one of the worlds most beautiful and talented women? Of all the things we could have in common, I’m glad that’s it!” Tom winks back, and as Rose blushes while trying to find something to say, he takes his chance to continue. “Really, Rose. You’re smart, insightful and curious, and getting a degree just wasn’t enough for you. You stayed at university, to conduct research, and lecture and inspire young minds - what better way is there to use talent?” He leans forward, blue eyes full of love. 

“I guess you’re right.” A shy smile finds its way to Rose’s lips, just like Tom’s fingers. One thumb brushing over her lower lip, filling the silence without making a sound. As they slowly wash the dishes, they steal kisses and brushes and soft touches, smiling and giggling like teenagers, whose hearts beat faster at every intimate note. Once they’ve finished the dishes, Tom is kissing Rose against the counter, one hand holding her jaw softly in place as his lips carefully nip hers, bringing an edge to the tenderness. 

“I’m tired,” Rose says as they break away. 

“Want to go upstairs?” Tom asks with a gentle yet inclined tone. Rose nods and they take to the stairs, but as they pass her office, Tom stops and nods to the door. 

Rose misreads him and goes to kiss her silly boyfriend by drawing him in by his shirt. “No, in the bedroom!” she giggles insistently. 

Tom giggles with her and kisses her temple. “Later,” he promises, “now, get in and send your work.” As she darts by him, he moves down the hall to their bedroom, and when she joins him a little later, he has shed his shirt. “Did you send it?” he asks, and Rose nods as she follows his suit and pulls off her shirt and bra, letting her breasts fall free. Tom gasps at the view, causing her to giggle again. 

“What?” she asks, knowing full well ‘what’. 

And though Tom knows she knows, he still answers. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous.” 

“Mmm,” she muses as she walks towards him, puts her hands on his broad chest, and teases. “Not very scholarly to use such foul language.” 

Tom squints with ironic disbelief and backs her up to the bed where he urges her to lie down.  
“Says the girl who seriously considered referring to one of the worlds most notoriously famous characters as having “the social skills of an inbred lobster” - not exactly scholarly either, darling,” he winks, as he goes to pull off his pants, leaving him in his boxers, shamelessly showing the trace of his erection through the fabric. 

“What should I do without you, my Cambridge boy, by my side?” she sighs and Tom routinely undoes and pulls down her paper bag pants and undies in a smooth motion. 

“Masturbate, probably,” is all he answers, with a joking smile and shrug of his shoulders as he moves to sit between her legs. 

Rose laughs - that free, full laughter, only cut off by a small moan as Toms' fingers move to her wet centre. She reciprocates by rubbing his length through the fabric of his shorts, and as he leans in to kiss her neck, she whispers in his ear. “Thank god, I have you.”


End file.
